


Memories Crannies

by apocalypsecat



Category: Ib (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, No Slash, Post Game, Sibling Relationship, memories crannies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-13
Updated: 2013-06-08
Packaged: 2017-12-08 08:57:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/759517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apocalypsecat/pseuds/apocalypsecat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ib remembers but Garry doesn't. And there's no handkerchief, no promise of reunion. As the years went by, Ib forgot. She forgot everything, her brain used the excuse of a vivid imagination and that was that. But then years later, Garry walked back into her life in the most unexpected form.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Intro

Ever since the visit at that gallery there seemed to be something different in her. For one, there had been a lemon candy in her pocket. Considering she hated those, it was very unlikely that she should find one in her pocket. She didn't always hate them; but they now appeared to install a sense of despair in her. Then came the fact that she couldn't look at a rose without watering it and cried if she saw a wilted one; red roses too but especially blue ones. And when she had suddenly had a craving for macaroons, to say that her parents looked at her strangely was the understatement of the year. Among these, were other bizarre happenings: she rapidly grew a fond passion for the outdoors and the sun, which she seemed to think, may disappear; she absolutely hated all crayons and she had a particular disliking for palette knifes. Not that there was much occasion to use one. The Guertena gallery had certainly established a mountain of questions in her mind that were indisputably impossible to answer.

Her parents had always told her that she would find the answer in her heart. But how could she look into her own heart? Surely that wasn't possible. Little did Ib know, that it wouldn't be for several years until she discovered the true meaning of this. However, even then, it did not come as an answer, more as a revelation.

Four years later, Ib celebrated her thirteenth birthday. About to enter into teenage life, she didn't feel ready. Inside, she still felt like the shy girl who nudged her mother's shoulder to say something or the confused one who still read all the names in galleries even if she didn't know the words. In fact, talking about art, it was her favourite subject. Easily. Sciences on the other hand; she shuddered. And it was most certainly not because of the chilling breeze that rushed between the leaves of trees as she walked to school. Only natural it was getting colder however; after all, it was January. It was the first day back after a rejuvenating holiday; sadly, their art teacher was leaving for maternity leave. Well, in a way, Ib wasn't all too sad to see Mrs. Clef leave considering she hated the woman. However, a substitute teacher may not know much to do about art, and that could make the lessons worse. Ib was certainly about to be proved wrong. Not only did the teacher know about art, he knew Ib. The only problem was, he had forgotten it. It truly was a case of memories crannies.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Ib walked into her school, forced to squeeze her way through the corridors to her first class: art. It was time to see if the substitute teacher was any good. As she settled down into one of the chairs, she looked around and saw that there was no one. She sighed; that was a good start. She had arrived before the teacher himself.

"I am so sorry I'm late I-" A roughly twenty-year old man with fascinatingly purple hair and a maimed blue coat stopped as he took in the fact that there was only one girl here, "Ah. How are you Ib?" He said with a smile and said girl looked up immediately from her book. Garry frowned; who was Ib? How could he possibly know her name? If it was her name; it probably wasn't. Although, come to think of it, 'Ib' wasn't a very common name in the first place. Garry didn't even know it existed; yet the name had felt so familiar and normal rolling over his tongue. Anyway, it would only make matters worse if the girl responded.

"Sorry, what did you say?" Ib asked, then seeing the frown on the man's face, apologised once more.

"Don't apologise, I was just asking how you were. I'm Garry, by the way; the substitute teacher," Garry said with a smile. Damn it. She had replied; that was her name. How the hell did he know her name? Behind his smile was a hurricane of confusion; and deep down slight gratitude for the fact that the girl, Ib, had not heard that he knew her name. The gratitude was deep down because, well, hurricanes take up a lot of space, don't they? At the time, he didn't even know that he was feeling gratitude somewhere, "What time does class start at?" He asked, feeling completely unprofessional.

"Two minutes ago," Ib said quietly with a small smile. Garry sat down with a small sigh.

"And how many in the class?" Garry felt bad asking all these questions, but he had to know if he was going to have to deal with a large bunch of hooligans or a small bunch. Why did he even take the job in the first place? Because you need the money, he thought and sighed at his annoyingly realistic mind.

"There should be about ten or fifteen students," Ib said then added with a smile, "How much did you know about this job before you accepted?" Then, hearing her own question, she widened her eyes and started apologising, "I'm sorry, that was very personal, I shouldn't have asked that, I'm very, very sorry-"

"A few seconds," Garry interrupted and Ib looked at him in confusion.

"I'm sorry, what?" Ib asked.

"A few seconds after knowing the salary was all it took for me to take the job," Garry replied with a smile, which Ib returned. Somehow, she felt happy in his presence; he sounded nice, "Why do you keep apologising?"

Before Ib could answer that, the rest of class rushed inside. Ib sighed; no more peace now.

"Good morning, everybody, I'm your substitute art teacher," Garry said as all the students settled down.

"Hello Mr. ..." The class was stuck.

"Call me Garry," Said their new art teacher with a kind smile. Ib could swear that she saw a few girls almost swoon and inwardly sighed.

"So, what were you studying last term?" Garry asked and a girl shot her hand up way too enthusiastically, "Yes...?" He said, pointing to her.

"Harriet," She pursed her lips slightly as if the thought of not knowing her name was intolerable, then speedily moved on, "We were studying one-point perspective. In fact, we were in the middle of a project. Miss Clef said that you would know what to do-"

"Okay, that's wonderful ..."Garry stopped, thinking for a second.

"Harriet," The girl said with a supposed flirting smile that looked more like the Joker's grimace. It made Garry lean away a little.

"That- That's wonderful, um, Harriet," Then Garry collected his cool again, "But we won't be doing that anymore."

"But Miss Clef said-" Harriet continued in a nasal, whiny voice.

"I'm really not going to like you, am I?" Garry said aloud to himself. Harriet's eyes watered as she rummaged in her bag for some tissues. For the record, everybody else was attempting to constrain their laughter, but the contorted faces were a bit of a giveaway. Ib smiled a bit, but not enough to make her noticeable. After all, that was what she did. Nobody noticed her. And she preferred it that way. Even when he realised that he had, in fact, said this aloud, Garry didn't seem to care. You may be thinking that he is perhaps not the best teacher of the century at this stage, in which case I would ask you what defines a good teacher. Garry didn't have official qualifications and his methods were innovative to say the least. However, that is not to say that they were bad.

"So what are we going to do, then, Garry?" Another student, a boy this time, asked.

"You're about to see," replied Garry, taking out a book. Unfortunately, from her seat Ib couldn't see. "Everybody, take out your books or a sheet of paper."

"Which one?" Harriet's slightly sniffling voice rang through the room that was filled with exasperated silence.

"Yes," Garry replied, flicking through the pages of the book.

"You didn't answer my question," Harriet seemed confused at this. Her look appeared to say, 'You're a teacher, you should answer all my questions'. Before Garry could find something to say to the most irritating girl, Ib answered quietly for him

"Harriet, that obviously means he doesn't really care," Ib pointed out, taking out her sketchbook.

"What Ib said," Garry remarked, cornering a page of his book. "So, you're probably wondering what this is?" He asked, lifting up the book, "Well it's a book of poems. I shall be reading out a poem for you and you will be drawing whatever comes to mind." Most of the students seemed slightly confused, "It doesn't have to be neat or anything. The more abstract, the better in this case. It is simply an exercise to stimulate the creative side of your brain," Now nearly all of the students were confused due to the fact that most of them had no idea what 'stimulate' meant. So when Garry asked, "Ready?" all they could do was nod. Garry cleared his throat and commenced.

"A wilted rose hung from a window frame," He started, speaking like an actor on stage. Many of the students weren't listening and doodled randomly on their blank pages. Even Ib herself didn't really understand the point of this and she was trying.

"Such as a leg or arm that has gone lame," What could Ib possibly draw about this? There wasn't much inspiration in the lines.

"It has wilted for sure," her mother said,

And the poor girl's heart felt heavy as lead," Ib let her mind go blank, similar to the canvas before her, closed her eyes and started drawing.

"When the mother left her to dwell on her thoughts, Not understanding, how her daughter was distraught," Ib felt others around her slowly become mesmerised by the poem, and the words flowing from Garry's mouth, but she continued drawing, the pencil in her hands forming swirls across the page.

"Leaving her to wonder about when she died," Garry continued, his voice unwavering.

If her family would follow this guide,

She wondered, 'would they do the same'?" Everybody was enthralled, some had stopped drawing. Garry paused for effect, not that he needed much. He captivated all.

"And hang her from the window frame...?" Garry had achieved the impossible in their class; silence. You could literally hear a pin drop.

The rest of the lesson was equally interesting for Ib. No, not interesting; the word is too mild. It was fascinating; she had never had an art lesson like this before. Yet she felt strange, somehow. Especially when she looked back at what she had drawn while Garry read the poem: a clear, wilting rose. The strange thing was, that it was perfect, down to every last stroke. And her eyes had been shut. You would have thought that she spent hours looking at roses from the drawing. Yet somehow, art had felt familiar, not estranged as usual.

Ib shook her head. The teacher was different and so were the lessons to say the least, so why on earth should anything feel familiar?


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

As the deafening bell announced break, Ib was still trying to figure out what the familiarity of Art had been due to. Suddenly, a group of younger students ran past Ib in the corridor, nearly making her books and herself tumble to the floor if it hadn't been for another, older student who had helped her.

"Let's play hide and seek! I want to seek! I want to seek!" A girl screeched. 

"Are you okay?" The boy replied, but she barely heard. Her mind had already escaped to another world...

_All of a sudden, the stick man disappears and something is scrawled in a thick yellow paint that could choke me, 'Play hide and seek?' I open curtains in blind desperation; my petals rip and the lights dim. Then, I open a curtain and see a painting. A painting of me being hanged. I crash onto the floor from terror, breathing rapidly. Then I realise there's only one curtain left. There's nothing left to lose. That's why I stand up and walk to it with determination. I press the button with a trembling hand. It's the right door, 'found me; you get prize.'_

Ib resurfaced, feeling completely woozy and bewildered.

"Are you okay?" The words rang in her head many times, echoing across the boundaries of her skull. Then everything abruptly went back to normal and her head bolted up with a gasp.

"I'm okay, thanks," She said with a smile and walked off with a sigh as she heard a group of girls giggling. But Ib didn't mind; she knew many girls despised Ib with her beautiful red eyes and straight A's. My, if Ib spared them a thought she probably would too.

Ib sighed, her chin resting in the palm of her hand, her other preoccupied with flicking the pages of the novella they were studying in English, Of Mice and Men. It wasn't particularly interesting; after all, Ib was one of those students who actually try to get good grades but in this lesson, she was trying not to have a nap. Then again, reciting the different, far-fetched (to say the least) symbolic meanings and theories of the colour red is not the most interesting manner to spend an hour. However, there was one thing that made a light bulb finally illuminate in her brain; when the teacher started rambling about the flashback a character has: a certain incident in a certain place named Weed involving a certain...

_'Lady in Red', I read aloud. It certainly fits that there should be a red painting to match the crimson walls. I start to feel a slight apprehension as I cannot find a key to the locked door. Then again, the apprehension is always here in this place. I haven't had a moment of peace amidst the terror of being the chased one. I turn away from the painting when I suddenly hear glass shattering and feel it cutting my skin. I run away from the hissing half-woman limping across the floor..._

Only the third lesson and Ib already longed to be at home. Many aspects contributed to the feeling. First off, the weather: a constant downpour. Ib hated it. Then there was the fact that she couldn't walk a few steps without getting a strange sort of 'vision' (that was what she thought they were). And of course, the annoying reality that Biology was next.

"We will be continuing our study on cross-breeding, students," The teacher announced as everybody took their seats. Ib sighed inwardly: this was the fifth lesson on cross-breeding; she had hoped that perhaps after the holidays they would start a new topic but she guessed not. Ib could only assume it was a subject the teacher rather enjoyed. "So, take this blue rose..."

Blue rose...

_I squeeze the key I got from the weird man as I notice the title of the empty frame: 'Lady in Blue'. The name seems familiar and I rapidly realise why: the terrifying link between 'Lady in Red' and this painting. But the painting isn't here. And there's petals and blood on the floor. What could possibly have happened? Biting my lip in apprehension, I slowly lift the key up and twist it into the lock. A sound. I wish that the key doesn't work. But the door has unlocked. Wishes aren't meant to be granted. That's why they're wishes, right?. I take a deep breath and open the door._

The sight I see is overwhelming for me. The 'Lady in Blue' looks up from the rose she is tearing apart and sees me. I freeze, hoping she hasn't seen me. It's too late; she's already chasing me and claws at my clothes and the rose in my pocket. I scream out as I feel a knife slice across my arm; but there's no knife – only a red petal on the floor. My frozen limbs unlock and I rush out of the door and shut it against the painting with a pant. I breathe for a minute until I hear banging. I jump up.

Suddenly, glass cuts my skin as it falls above me. I look up, wondering what it is and am stuck to the ground in terror when I see the painting leap out of an unseen window. I start sprinting away when I suddenly realise something. The Lady has no rose. Which means ... the rose is still inside! This is my chance! My heart tells me that it will be useful, so I dash back to the door and pick up the wilting rose. Without a moment to lose, I scurry out the door and to the exit, still sprinting even when I'm out of the death chamber.

I dunk my rose into the vase to reassure me and then an idea comes to mind. I slowly, cautiously place the blue rose into the replenished vase. It has healed. I tuck the rose back in my pocket with my rose and head back, walking until I come to an abrupt stop in front of the weird man...

Ib frowned, completely and utterly dazed. Unexpectedly (Ib thought she had had her hourly dose) she had another vision.

"Well, my name's Garry. And you are? Ib. Ib, you say...Now let's go Ib!"

__

__

A flash of blue and purple and then the man was gone along with the fabricated world her mind was creating.

Thankfully, Italian was next and since they were continuing a film in the lesson, Ib would be able to rest a little. She settled down in her usual place in the front corner of the classroom and leaned against the wall and closed her eyes, letting the clutches of sleep enfold her in its embrace...

And it was only the loud bell that made Ib bolt to a waking position. A wedding? I must have been asleep for a while, she thought. She decided to stay awake now considering it was nearly the end of the lesson anyway. The bride threw the bouquet of flowers into the crowd with a radiant smile...

_What do I do with ring? What can I do with a ring? I already tried giving it to the scary blue painting but he only wants my flower and I can't do that. I walk around aimlessly to the wriggling hands and look at the paintings: the sorrowful bride and groom. I swivel back to the hands, my heart thumping. The ring! But...which hand? Where does the ring go? Where does mum have her ring? But mum has lots of rings. So what about dad? He...he has it on his left hand! I slide the ring onto the fourth finger of the left hand, which abruptly stops moving. Nothing happens. What do I do now?! Suddenly, the bride moves and throws her bouquet of flowers into the invisible crowd with a radiant smile..._

"Nearly the end of the day!" Ib whispered to herself, longing to be at home. There was only DT, which was now, and RS and then it was the end. Today, Ib particularly wanted to be back in her bedroom, alone and comfortable. She settled down in her seat just as the bell rang and the teacher swivelled around in her chair.

"Good afternoon, class! This term you will be making milk puzzles! First off, does anybody know what a milk puzzle is?" The teacher seemed to have been expecting all hands up, because she looked slightly surprised upon noticing there was not one hand up. Suddenly, Ib lifted her hand up. That wasn't the surprising thing however; what was surprising was that she hadn't meant to. It was as if an unknown force had swung her arm up and permitted her mouth to speak; for now she was returning a full answer to the question asked.

"Well, as the name implies, it's a puzzle where all the pieces are white like milk," The teacher nodded approvingly, "Since there's no picture on them, they're much harder than regular puzzles. Very smart people can finish them in no time at all, but ... to be honest, they're not even exciting – since they don't even make a picture in the end. It feels much more worth it to do a puzzle of a picture you like." Blue and purple flashed before her eyes again. Silence.

"Thank you for that very in-depth explanation, Ib," The teacher said with apparent confusion after a few moments and Ib blushed. She didn't even know why the hell she had replied! Moreover, she didn't even know what the hell she had replied; she definitely couldn't repeat it now. She didn't even know what a milk puzzle was yet she had just spewed out an answer. It was certainly a strange day.

The last lesson of the day: RS. Ib really didn't get the point in that class considering most people doodled during it. They were studying Christianity that term, starting off with the Nativity. The teacher was explaining (in the natural monotone voice that teachers usually use) how Joseph and Mary had to leave Nazareth...or was it Jerusalem? Ib started to doze off; or so she thought. Because take a guess what happened when the teacher said 'Mary'...

_"We'll get out together, right? Promise!" A flash of a blonde girl with a green dress. Then there was a palette knife. The light reflected onto it more and more until Ib was blinded by the bright light. Then, the palette knife suddenly burst into flames. "Ib, please! STOP!"_

"Ib?" The teacher's confused voice brought said student back to the classroom. Ib widened her eyes as she saw that everybody was looking at her expectantly and scanned the board. There was a triangle with two blanks filled in at the corners and one question mark. The two filled in blanks said 'the Father' and 'the Son'. The Father...the Son...and the Holy Spirit.

"The third element of the Holy Trinity is the Holy Spirit," She said quickly. The teacher sighed.

"Yes, Ib. You're absolutely right. But actually, I was just asking you to turn on the heating."

As the deafening bell announced the end of the day, Ib stood up wearily. She knew she needed to get some air. So she collected her things quickly and left before the teacher taking the register could realise a thing. Ib smiled as she walked out of school: it felt good not to follow the rules for once. Ib had certainly been right about one thing; the fresh air was definitely clearing her head from the fuzzy grip of confusion. And the familiarity of the walk home was also helping her return to her senses. She let herself relax and slow down in her stroll.

It was only when the acrid – to her, at least – smell of chalk reached her nose that the peace was shattered and replaced by psychedelic colours and haziness...

_"Well, now...This is a significant change in atmosphere..." I look around us and find drawings that could only have been made by the hand of a child. The little bells chiming almost make everything seem better. Almost. Because it's the person beside me who's really helping me, "But nothing we can't handle. Let's go, Ib!"_

The waitress writing the specials in chalk looked up as she heard a girl shrieking. She looked down again once seeing that the girl – who had fascinating red eyes – was fine; she had only tripped up. However, the girl had a strange look on her face; that of an estranged person. The waitress shook her head and sighed. If she slacked off and started day-dreaming, she would certainly get fired.

Ib shook her head and kept on walking. What were these visions? And now, they were threatening to wound her; she was tripping up on her own feet after having them for God's sake! Yes. She was definitely tripping. She had barely recovered from this when a little girl came up to Ib and asked her,

"Excuse me, can you help me find my toy box?" Everything faded away, even the colour of the sky, even the persistent voice of the little girl, even the feel of the ground under Ib's feet...

_"This is the toy box?" He says as we look into the depths of the box, "It's rather big. But at any rate...It said there was a key in there...I can't say I see the bottom," He squinted, trying to see but to no avail, "Is there really a key in there, I wonder?" Suddenly, a shadow falls upon us and a voice breathes down on our necks._

"Wanna see?" Before I can turn around, a hand pushes me into the depths and darkness of the toy box.

"EXCUSE ME!" The little girl waved her hand in front of Ib's face. Her parents suddenly arrived.

"Annie! Didn't we already tell you not to cause trouble to other people?!" The father scolded. The little girl pouted.

"But she was going to help me look for my toy box, Daddy!" The girl complained. As the two continued to argue, the mother came up to Ib.

"I am so sorry; she wasn't too annoying was she? Are you okay?" She asked with a concerned look on her face that did not seem to be only for her daughter.

"No, she wasn't annoying," Ib replied kindly with a smile, "Although quite persistent."

"Well that's our little Annie," The mother said, sighing.

"I think it's good; I wouldn't budge from my mother's side or speak to many people for ages," Ib countered.

"My, I wish Annie was like that," The mother thought aloud, then added, "Thank you for not being mean about it."

"You're welcome," Ib said with a polite smile and departed. When she was walking away, she looked back and saw the family smiling and laughing and smiled herself for real, however, feeling slightly sorrowful. Worst was, she had no idea why she should feel sad, considering she had a wonderful family too. Yet she still felt like she had a hole in her heart for some unknown reason.

"Mum?! Dad?! I'm home!" Ib called as she slammed the front door shut. No answer. Ib sighed and dropped her bag at the entrance of her room, then went out in the garden. She found her mother getting angry at her phone and laughed quietly, "Are you okay, Mum?" Her mother immediately looked up from her phone and smiled in obvious relief.

"I was getting worried, Ib! You were taking so long and I was scared something might have happened-!" The mother hyperventilated until Ib stopped her by putting a hand on her shoulder.

"Mum! I took five more minutes than usual!" She said with a confused smile, "Besides, I'm a big girl now!"

"Well you're still my little baby to me," Her mother said, pinching her cheeks playfully as Ib turned her head and sighed. Then, she saw a packet of cigarettes and turned to her mother with wide eyes.

"Mum! I thought you quit!" She exclaimed, shocked to find that her mother, after five years, had taken up the habit again. The mother laughed, as Ib simply stared, completely confused.

"Those are your father's, Ib!" The mother explained and then added, "Did you really think that I would start again after five years? He just went to get a lighter." Lighter. Lighter... The word rang in Ib's head several times before the now familiar haze of confusion swept over her mind...

_"Burn them...It completely slipped my mind, even though I have a lighter..." He flicks the lighter and the flames engulf the vines, turning them into ash, "Success! It worked-"_

"IB!" Her mother's worried voice snapped Ib away from the hallucination.

"What's the matter, Mum?" She asked and her mother sighed melodramatically.

"Your eyes looked vacant!" Her mother said with exaggerated worry. Well not exaggerated for her. Ib's mother was not the chill type, so to speak.

"I'm okay," Ib sighed inwardly, "I'm going to go do my homework; see you later!"

Ib ran up the steps two by two and into her bedroom. Closing the door, she picked up her school bag and placed it near her bed, which she flopped down onto. What the hell was happening to her? Ib was seriously considering medical advice until she thought about something else. Something else that had happened today that was strange. Ib took out the drawing of the rose that she had made in Art that morning. She looked at the strokes for a second and frowned. It still seemed familiar...Suddenly; she widened her eyes and gasped.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Previously . . .

_Ib took out the drawing of the rose that she had made in Art that morning. She looked at the strokes for a second and frowned. It still seemed familiar...Suddenly; she widened her eyes and gasped._

Ib breathed in and out for a few moments, still staring at the rose. Then she laughed at herself – how could she be so stupid? How could she actually believe for a moment that she was in some  _parallel world_  of the Guertena gallery with her  _teacher_ , Garry, being chased around by  _mannequins_ and  _paintings_. It was all just so absurd. She placed her art sketch book on the desk, about to get up when she was flung back onto her bed because of the sheer agony in her head. Invisible hammers smashed at her skull and her eyes filled up with tears. Her breathing shortened to rasps. She tried to scream, but she only let out a small strangled sound. Red spots coloured her room, getting bigger and bigger until the room was engulfed in a pitch-black darkness that was never-ending.

 _All so absurd, now is it? I feel like that's a challenge..._ A voice said inside her head – a voice inside her head? This was getting better and better—

" _Did you remember everything, Ib?"_ She heard her mother say. Ib bristled in anger – yes. She was actually going to argue with a voice inside her head. She didn't know why she was acting like this; that voice brought out a different, darker side from the warm-hearted girl she thought she was. The voice was taunting. Mocking. It sneered at her and had access to the very depths of her mind. She hated it.

"That's a classic mother line – you're really not going to prove anything with that—"

' _? World. You don't know this word.' Well, I must say, you really didn't know many words then,_ it drawled,  _Now, however, I'm sure you do. Fabricated. Fabricated World, a wonder,_ it said slowly, savouring Ib's confusion.

"Fabricated World; the one you're creating about dolls, roses, keys and whatnot—"

 _The beauty of irony, don't you think?_ Ib scoffed, not even thinking to remind herself that she was talking to a voice.

"It isn't irony – and even if it were, how could it be beautiful? And besides, who are you?!"

 _Silly girl. Don't you remember running away from 'the footsteps with no owners' as you called them? And I must say you have the memory span of a goldfish if you can't bring your little mind to recall the entry into the world, 'Come down below Ib, I'll show you someplace secret.' Certainly learned some things there, didn't you? Oh, and_ Garry _, of course._

"What about him?" Ib asked slowly. Why did Garry have to be involved in this?

 _Garry has to be involved in this because he was there with you, silly girl,_ Ib bristled at the insult,  _Oh, don't take it personally – all girls are silly—_

"Right, so you're sexist too." Ib mumbled.

_I lived in the 1600s, silly girl. I was brought up with the judgements I have today. Not that talking about me isn't interesting, but I think I was challenging you, now wasn't I? So, where were we? Ah, yes, of course. Your knight in shining armour: Garry. Although, I must say it was rather you who saved him, the damsel in distress. Well, the Lady in Blue rather did like his rose... And then, your realisation, of course, that the roses are everything. They're the embodiments of your spirit and very soul. You realised that when Garry said, 'Wounds appear on me when my rose loses its petals.' Didn't you? Maybe you're not so silly, silly girl._

"Well how about you stop calling me silly, then?" Ib said. She had to pick on something; because this couldn't be happening. She was talking to try and remind herself that this couldn't possibly be real. This 'Fabricated World' was only the one of her mind, and not physically real.

_Oh, don't ruin this. I've been six feet under for centuries; this is the most fun I've had in a while._

"You mean, this is a message from beyond the grave?" Things were still just getting better.

_Scared are we? That an old ghost like me has come to haunt you? Well then too bad. Deal with it; I'm not leaving any time soon. I'd like to tell you that I've yet to achieve my goal of making you realise that you are a very stubborn little girl who can't realise the truth. Hm. You don't seem very convinced; I'm afraid I'm going to have to make things emotional. I've always hated sentimentality; it clouds the path of true judgement and logic. But I am rather sure it will work on you._

"If there really was this 'fabricated world'," Ib made sure to sneer this, "with mannequins chasing me around, you'd be rather hard-pressed to find a moment of emotion other than terror in there."

 _Ah, yes. But you forget that I have access to the very depths of your small mind. So let me just delve in and bring_ this  _back up..._

Suddenly, Ib plunged into another world and saw herself in a room, wrapped in a blue coat and... Garry! Purple hair, shredded blue coat and all! She gasped and then held her breath as he started talking.

" _Now that I think about it, you were travelling all alone until you met me. That's nothing to sneeze at. I mean it, that's brave!"_

Ib smiled; even if this was all fake, that was really sweet. Then, the voice came back to ruin things.

 _Oh, how sweet. My little icicle of a heart is melting,_ the voice drawled. Ib huffed.

" _For all we know, there might be others lost in this place. If there are, I hope we can find each other..."_ Ib's eyebrows knitted together in slight confusion because maybe...just maybe...

No. It wasn't possible.

" _What's your name?" "Mary!" A blonde girl replied happily, "Nice to meet you, Ib!"_

_Ah. Mary. She really was my favourite..._

"If that's all you have to say, I'm going," Ib said angrily as she got up and marched away. At least, that's what she intended to do. Ib gritted her teeth as her back slammed against the wall of her bedroom. She had been pulled back by an invisible force.

_Not so quickly, silly girl; I'm far from finished..._

Click. It was just a click at first and one frame. One photograph that flashed in her mind: the cover of a book.

' _Ruin of the Heart'._

_If your spirit suffers too much, you will soon start to hallucinate ... And in the end, you will be destroyed. And more worrying yet ... is that you will not even be conscious of that fact._

Click. Ib's breath hitched in her throat. It was louder, persistent; it wanted to be heard.

" _Something came up from the ground!" "This is bad! Get away from the painting!" "Ib! Watch out!"_ _The stone vines demolished the area where she had been standing a second earlier._

Click. The frame switched to a dimly lit corridor.

" _I see... You would want to stay with Garry... We'll get out together, right? Promise!"_

Click. The slides were passing by quicker.

" _In my way, in my way, in my WAY!" A girl sliced at a mannequin head with a palette knife._

Click. The blonde girl appeared again.

" _All these feelings suddenly... How do you say it? Came... gushing out?"_

Click. A girlish voice spoke sweetly.

" _Ib, would you be friends with me?"_

Click.

" _I wonder what Garry's doing now. Crying all alone, maybe?"_

Click.

" _Where are you going, Ib? Why are you going by yourself? We promised we'd be together... Right? Why are you running?"_

" _IB! What are you doing, Mary?!"_

" _Shut up! If only you'd been good and waited there!"_

" _M-Mary! I knew it! You're..."_

" _STAY AWAY!"_

_The blonde girl fell to the floor with a thump._

Click.

" _Sorry, it must have been scary. But it's okay now. You might not believe me, but Mary... she isn't human."_

Click.

" _Ib, Garry, where are you?"_

" _Don't tell me that was... She's after us!"_

Click.

" _A mirror... Well, let's just hope it's hope."_

Click.

" _Say, Ib? Have you heard of macaroons? ... ... So, uh, if we get out of here, could we go there together? ... No, wait! We_ will  _be going there" And we will get out! I promise!_

Click.

" _Hm? This room... This isn't the toy box... is it?"_

Click.

" _More importantly... See that, Ib? The painting on the far wall... I think I've seen it before..._

Click.

" _Who's there?! Ib... Garry... You're both okay?_

Click.

" _How did you get into this room? Leave..."_

Click.

" _Mary... you..."_

Click

" _Don't take another step!"_

Click.

" _Leave right now!"_

Click.

" _Now, now, NOW!_

CLICK.

" _LEAVE!"_

Click.

" _There's no other option!"_

Click.

" _IB!"_

Click.

" _Please!"_

Click.

" _STOP!"_

Click.

" _NO!"_

' _Fabricated World. Once you go in, there's no going back. All your time here will be lost. Will you still jump in?'_

" _What's this big mural? 'Fabricated World?' Hey! Isn't that the former gallery? Does that mean... If we jump into this... We'll go back there? But how are meant to jump into a painting?_

_There was a flash of blinding light._

" _Ib! Look! The frame! Now might be our chance!"_

_He jumped in._

" _Yes! I'm really in! Hurry up, Ib!"_

_She hesitated._

" _What's wrong? Come on!"_

_A figure walked towards them._

" _Ib! I finally found you! Sheesh... I was looking everywhere; don't just go running off places on your own! Your father's waiting for you too, see? Let's go, Ib!"_

" _Hey, what are you doing? Hurry up and come over!"_

" _Ib! How many times have I told you? Don't go following strangers!"_

" _Hey, it's not scary, okay? You'll be fine!"_

" _Ib! Listen to your mother! Don't go with some stranger! Do you want to never see your mother and father again?"_

_The man knelt down and stretched out his hand._

" _Ib! I'll pull you over!_

" _Come with me!"_

" _Grab my hand!_

" _IB!"_

_The girl looked helplessly between the two... The choice was simple really. Her heart or her brain? Her brain told her to go with her mother, not a man she had barely met. But her heart... her heart told her that the only option was to go with the man. Her heart would lead her. Her heart would tell her the answer. Her heart would tell her the truth._

_She grabbed the man's hand._

_Everything went white..._

_The young girl slowly got up, confused. What had she been doing? She wandered aimlessly around the gallery until she came across a beautiful sculpture of a rose. There was a roughly twenty-year old man with fascinatingly purple hair and a maimed blue coat._

" _Hm? What is it, little lady?"_

" _What are you looking at?" She asked as politely as she could. Her mother had told her not to cause the other visitors any trouble._

" _Well, let's see. It's a rose sculpture, I guess... When I look at this sculpture, I feel somehow... sorrowful," The man gave a sad smile, "I wonder why?" He shook his head, "Ah, I'm sorry if I said anything to trouble you... Never mind what I said. Well, bye!" She felt rather 'sorrowful' too as the man walked away. He seemed nice. She heard footsteps and turned around to see her mother._

" _There you are, Ib! Oh, where you looking at this?" Her mother admired the sculpture, "Wow, this is really great... It represents a person's heart, I suppose? I wonder if you have such a beautiful rose in your heart, Ib?"_

The light blinded her as Ib's eyes opened once more and she gasped for breath, tears running down her face.

"As the rose wilts, so will you wilt away," Ib gave a sour laugh, "You don't get it, do you mum? I don't have a rose in my heart; my heart  _is_ the rose. I'm sorry. It turns out I was just as careless as Carrie. I didn't remember everything. In fact, I forgot it all..."

_To the point of being amnesic, my friend._

Ib had to smile through the tears.

"So now, it's 'friend' and not 'silly girl' is it?" She asked with a watery smile.

_Well, unless you wish me to revert to that habit. Besides, now that you've remembered everything, I guess you're not so silly anymore._

And with that, the voice faded away, like rain to reveal a rainbow. But not before Ib asked one final question.

"Who are you?"

_My friend, I think you already know._

Ib closed her eyes and smiled,

"Rest in peace, Weiss Guertena."

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 4**

Ib's breath started to quicken as she walked up the stairs to Art. She had remembered everything; she knew she was right. And she was going to be with Garry again. They would talk like they used to in the gallery but this time, they would be happy. This time, they would be talking in the real sun, not a fake one made of chalk. She smiled at the thought and ran to the classroom.

She flung the door open and her smile was immediately wiped off her face; everyone was already there. She gulped as everybody turned to stare at her and tightened the grip on her bag.

'Good morning, Ib. Please settle down,' Garry turned to her and with a smile on his face, which Ib returned weakly.

'I'm sorry for being late—' Ib started apologising quietly, but Garry interrupted her politely.

'Not to worry, Ib, I have barely arrived myself,' He reassured. The students looked at each other, confused. Usually, teachers rubbed it in their student's face whenever they were even just a few seconds late. But Ib was more surprised; this meant that the students had arrived on time, even early.

Once again, a poem was recited and this time, everybody did the exercise properly. The students were then told their next topic: memories. They had to draw as much as they could about a particular memory or event. Ib diligently wrote a note to herself to think about what she could draw the portfolio about. In this lesson however, they were told to finish off their one-point perspective paintings, which everybody did willingly. Everybody started talking and Garry made no move to stop them. Ib then realised why he was such a success as a teacher: he would help if help was needed, but he wouldn't make his students sit in silence.

Ib, as always, finished before everybody else, and as asked, brought it up to the front to Garry, whose eyes widened.

'This is absolutely marvellous, Ib! You must have spent a long time on it,' He praised with a smile and Ib beamed back.

'Thank you, Garry,' said Ib, feeling as if she was immersed in sunlight.

'You're very welcome, Ib,' Garry replied. Ib was about to leave before she suddenly turned back, hesitating only a second before asking:

'Excuse me, Garry. Is it okay if I talk to you after class? There's something I'd like to ask you...' Ib saw her teacher's eyebrows knit together in confusion.

'My apologies, Ib, but I have a class next. Would you mind telling me now?' He ventured. Ib hesitated again. She told herself that she had nothing to worry about –after all, everybody was talking. And besides, why should she feel uncomfortable with the truth? It wasn't like Garry had forgotten everything; he was an adult, he would have remembered at least a bit of it.

'This is going to sound really absurd at first, but please hear me out,' Ib started, her former hope suddenly vanishing, 'Remember the Guertena exhibition?'

'Yes, of course, I went there myself; it was fascinating!' Garry said enthusiastically.

'Well, do you also remember this massive painting called 'Fabricated World'?' Ib continued, hoping Garry would remember before she could explain anything else. Because how could she explain something that changed both of their lives?!

'Ah, yes,' He nodded. 'It  _was_ rather big, wasn't it?' He added to himself. Ib paused for a few moments, not quite believing what she was hearing.

'You... you don't remember anything else? You  _have_ to remember something else!' Ib's voice started trembling. This wasn't in any of the options her mind had anticipated. Garry had forgotten. Everything. 'You... you've forgotten?' She stammered, her breathing turning shallower.

'Was there anything else to remember?' Garry asked, confused. How could he have forgotten?!

'Garry!' Ib said desperately, 'The headless mannequins!' Surely he would remember that!

'Yes, they were in the gallery—' How could he forget they were  _chasing_ him?!

'The Lady in Red,' Ib interrupted frantically, 'and—' She had to bring up the 'Lady in Blue'; because that had to bring back some memories! He had nearly died! In fact, he  _would_ have died. If it hadn't been for her. And now that had all vanished from his mind?!

'Yes, that was all in the gallery!' Garry cut through, slightly impatient now. 'You're simply listing works of art by Guertena. I'm afraid I don't really see the point in any of what you are saying.' Ib gasped, her eyes widening.

Ib felt completely and utterly betrayed.

'You don't remember... you... there's nothing else? What about... what about everything else?' Ib asked, her eyes so desperate that Garry's voice softened.

'I'm sorry, Ib. I really don't remember anything else,' He replied, looking into her eyes. Ib realised he was being sincere; it was like a slap in the face. She physically flinched and shuddered out the breath Ib hadn't even realised she was holding.

It was only then that she became aware of the silence: the deep, profound silence. There was nothing: not the voices of the students, nor the scratching of pens, not even the shallow breaths of her peers. Everybody was watching them.

A boy cleared his throat.

'Excuse me, Garry, I've finished,' He said, handing Garry his work. The teacher gave a small nod to Ib and turned to the boy. The message was subtle, but crystal clear: 'dismissed'.

Ib rose up quietly, trying to attract the least attention possible as she walked back to her seat. It was a hopeless case; everybody was already staring at her.

They thought she couldn't, but she did. She heard all the tiny whispers. All the secrets and rumours being spread about her. And in that instant, she knew why she always stayed quiet, so that nobody noticed her. It was because she couldn't handle it otherwise. She knew that as she slammed the door of the school shut and marched back to her house. She couldn't take people talking about her. She had thought she was a tough girl, but the gossip was getting to her. Her fragile heart was on the verge of breaking into a million little pieces and the one who had the means to stitch them back together had forgotten everything.

When she got home, she collapsed onto her bed. If only Guertena would talk to her again; then she wouldn't feel so alone anymore. She wanted to cry, to get everything out of her system so that she could start afresh, but she was too numb, too tired. It was a horrible thought, yet that is often the case when telling the complete truth: Ib had given up.

Ib took a deep breath in and flicked through her homework journal. She came across the note she had made to herself in Art and decided to think about that. It would make her mind dwell on other things. More cheerful topics. She read her note: 'Memories/Events'. Yes, of course! The portfolio. Ib sighed; what memory or even could she possibly draw a whole portfolio on? It had to be something she remembered well; she could always make it up, but she doubted that was truly the point. So what could she possibly do?

Then, the answer slapped her in the face. Ib smiled. The smile of a person who has a plan.

She suddenly jumped out of her bed, rejuvenated.

'Would it work?' Ib asked herself over and over again as she paced around her room. And every time, her brain only supplied one answer: 'It had to.'


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 5**

Ib walked briskly to the Art classroom, muttering to herself 'it has to work, it has to work' over and over again. She paced around the door for a few minutes, breathing in and out.

Today was the day the portfolios had to be handed in. Ib had spent all her spare time on it, adding to it, making it perfect. Because it was all part of her plan; and the plan  _had_ to work. It had to work, because if it didn't, if Garry denied it all... she didn't know what she would do.

Of course, girls had started to taunt her after the slightly public rejection from Garry, but after a while, Ib realised they were only jealous. However, she had to admit, it had nearly broken her. All the talking behind her back and rumours flying away, spreading like forest-fire around the school; Ib shuddered. How did the popular girls manage?

But that wasn't the question at stake right now. Ib took a deep breath and then opened the door with determination, striding to Garry, who was sitting at his desk.

'Ah, good afternoon Ib,' Garry said pleasantly.

'Good afternoon, Garry,' Ib replied with a polite smile.

'I assume that you're handing in your portfolio.'

'Yes, here it is,' Ib handed it to him, but before letting go, added, 'But watch out. It could be a bit of a blast from the past.' She sent him a defiant glare before turning around and leaving with a brisk pace.

Garry stared at her leave in confusion. He knew that she had been acting strange ever since that lesson two months ago but what had he been supposed to answer? Ib was certainly a strange kid, he figured and sighed, packing up his things to go. Ib had been the last student to hand in her portfolio, so now he was free to go spend an all-nighter checking all the portfolios. When outside, he stopped by the closest Tesco he could find: he was going to need caffeine. And a lot of it.

The teacher sighed, rubbing his eyes and taking a long draught of coffee – his fifth cup to be exact – due to the fact that he had run out of Red Bull; which most certainly had not given him wings. The time was currently 5.07 am and Garry could feel the seconds ticking and heard them on his old-fashioned clock. Every tick taunted him of sleep he would never have. He finished writing the comment on this student's portfolio and a feeling of guilt overwhelmed his sleep-deprived mind. With the all the effort that the students had put in, he should be writing comments on every page – but he knew that if he did, he would spend the next week at his desk. So his tired hands reached out for the last portfolio, and Garry felt hope. Maybe he would actually be able to get some sleep. Even an hour or two would be better than nothing. 'Ib' was written on the cover in surprisingly elegant, cursive script. Suddenly, his student's words rang through his head,

' _Watch out. It could be a bit of a blast from the past.'_

What was that supposed to mean? He sighed and ignored the ominous feeling in his heart as he flicked open the first page to find written in the same script, 'Guertena Gallery: A Re-Telling'. So Ib had been to the gallery too? It certainly made sense; it would explain why she knew the paintings and sculptures. Garry started to flick through the portfolio.

The first was a drawing of a girl standing in front of a massive painting which Garry identified as 'Fabricated World'. He recognised the seemingly random swirls and splashes of colour. The next was a fantastic page full of blue hues, aquamarine swirls curling in and out of the page and royal streaks filling the page, until they reached a small girl – the same girl as the first page. She had long, brown hair with a simple red and white uniform. It suddenly dawned on Garry that this was a younger Ib – it came as a surprise because few of his other students had inserted themselves into their artwork.

A peaceful-looking woman in a frame filled the next page. She was dressed in blue and had matching eyes. Looking closer, Garry realised that the woman did not look peaceful at all. In fact, her eyebrows leaned down in a menacing way and her eyes sparked with anger and threats. Then, he noticed a message scrawled at the top of the page: "Thank you for getting it back." He frowned. What was it supposed to mean? He had always hated codes and ciphers and enigmas: why couldn't everything just be simple?

' _Of course you may have the rose, beautiful lady. The blue was made to match your sapphire eyes, I am sure.'_

A far off place in Garry's mind was slowly opening up, having been locked away in a cage years ago, forbidden to exit. He stared in confusion at the coffee in his hand – maybe coffee had a new side effect the world should be worrying about. A particularly disorienting effect, he thought as he shook his head, sighed and ploughed on, gently shifting the coffee to one side. He flicked the page, his attention wavering slightly until he saw a splash of red in his peripheral vision. He turned to look at the page and his eyes widened as he leaned back.

Why on earth would Ib draw a mannequin with bleeding eyes in her portfolio?! Garry certainly didn't remember that in the gallery! Or did he? The gallery was rather large, and there was a chance that he couldn't have seen everything...

' _Sorry. That was childish of me.'_

Childish?! Garry wasn't childish! He just hadn't been expecting a bloodied mannequin head! He sighed; now he was talking to himself. Not caring about any side effects he may have believed in, Garry took a gulp of coffee. The next page held a beautiful, absolutely scrumptious-looking macaroon. This time, there was a title,

' _Pastries shaped like hamburgers'_

Garry smiled at that. It sounded a lot like something he would say. Macaroons were so wonderful. It had been so long since he had had one... in fact, a few days before visiting the Guertena gallery. It must have been a really good macaroon for him to remember that...

'Stop it!' He scolded himself. It simply wouldn't do if he started... night-dreaming, about macaroons.

A girl. Just a girl. Those were the contents of the page. Very simply clad: a green dress and a blue ribbon. A perfectly sweet girl with an innocent smile on her face. So why did Garry's heart fill with pain, hate and regret? He muttered and shook his head. From now on, he would get a normal amount of sleep every day. Apparently he went completely around the bend when sleep-deprived.

The final double page was beautiful; stunning, in fact. Two roses intertwined, of vibrant red and blue. They looked too beautiful to be real. Too beautiful... to be real...

His heart skipped a beat.

His breath hitched in his throat.

He looked at his hand for a second then slapped his own forehead with it,

'How could I forget?' he muttered, leaning back on his chair and trying to remember more. This was wonderful! He would talk to Ib again! They would have macaroons together!

Then he stood up abruptly. This was horrible. No wonder Ib was distraught. He sat on his bed, in complete despair, his face in his hands. He had completely let her down. In fact, she probably hated him. How could he have not remembered? Not remembered someone whom he made such a powerful bond with in such a short time?

Sleep took a long time to come. Even if the first, baby-pink light of dawn was making its way through the blinds, Garry moved about restlessly, frantically. It perfectly reflected the state of his mind. And the stars, disappearing? That was his hope fading away.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter then there's going to be an epilogue (and maybe an alternative epilogue as well)

**Chapter 6**

Garry breathed in and out. What if she hated him? What if she rejected him? Then he realised the question wasn't 'what if' it was 'how harshly'. He paced around his office, running his hands through his hair in exasperation. He tried himself to stop being a chicken but it was no good. The phrase "are you a mouse or a man?" kept popping up in his head. And Garry certainly didn't want to be a mouse. Taking a deep breath, he walked out of his safe haven and towards certain doom.

Ib slammed her locker door shut. And there was Garry, formerly hidden behind her locker. She held her breath as he started speaking to her. She mustered all the strength she could and squeaked, 'Garry,' with a nod of respect.

'Ib,' Garry cleared his throat and smiled nervously, 'May I talk to you for a minute in my office?' The girl nodded, not trusting her voice when a thousand were screaming in her head,

 _See what you got yourself into? Now he's going to hate you. Thought you were pretty smart with that memory portfolio, eh? Flawless, huh?_ Had  _to work? Brilliant, isn't it? You're about to have a friend and you mess it up. How magnificent of you... How_ typical  _of you,_ Ib thought with a sigh as she stood with her shoulders hunched over, looking down at the floor.

'Please, come in,' Garry invited with a pleasant, yet slightly wobbly smile as he held the door open for her. The girl stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, trying to look at anything except the one, important thing in the room. Garry cleared his throat and Ib snapped her head to him, 'My most sincere apologies for bringing you here under such short notice and I realise that I haven't even told you why; I'm very sorry,' He apologised profoundly, 'Uh, I brought you these macaroons...I thought you might like them...' He said, handing her a lovely box full of the hamburger-shaped pastries. She gently took it in her hands and stared, eyes wide.

'Thank you, Garry. That's really nice of you,' She whispered with a slight smile. Then, she realised it was a sign. A sign that they would never go to that cafe together and eat macaroons. In fact, they would probably never have a one-to-one conversation like this ever again. She stared at the pastries, and all the symbolism with it and she sighed in defeat. The calm before the storm. Garry cleared his throat.

'Anyway, this is regarding your, ah, portfolio.' There. It was out in the open now. All Ib could do now was wait for the reprimanding. Before Garry could put in another word, she started speaking, trying desperately to right her wrongs. Because maybe, just maybe, if she did something right, Garry wouldn't completely hate her. She curled her hands into fists and took a breath in.

'I'm sorry, Garry! It was absolutely out of line for me to behave that way and create a portfolio about—" The words tumbled out and she was desperately preventing a tear from escaping her red eyes. She was a tough girl, she could manage. But if there was something that would break her, it was bound to be this. And she would do anything to stop it. But maybe too much had gone wrong. Maybe the wrongs she had done were irreversible. Ib was terrified of that.

'Ib,' Garry tried to interrupt but was promptly cut off by the teenager.

'Please don't think I'm crazy—' Ib sniffled slightly and scolded herself mentally for it.

'Ib,' Garry said softly, gently taking her hand, 'There is absolutely no reason for you to be sorry,' Ib looked up at him with confused tear-filled eyes. He shouldn't, couldn't,  _wouldn't_ back out now. Garry squeezed her hand lightly, looking down at their intertwined fingers. 'I am...  _terribly_ at fault here. I'm so sorry. Please don't apologise because...' Garry took in a breath and stared into Ib's eyes as he confessed, 'You gave me some of the best memories of my life back.'

It couldn't be possible.

'G-Garry... but—' Ib widened her eyes and mouth, staring at him. He let go of her hand in defeat and stood up, facing away from her and out of the window, to the raindrops pattering against the glass.

'I didn't think you would believe me. I know you probably hate me right now...' Garry inhaled sharply, and then slowly turned to look back at her. 'Ib... I truly am sorry.' His eyes glazed over slightly as he stared into the eyes of the girl he cared so much for. He stopped speaking for a few moments and the silence stretched on.

'But... Garry,' Ib walked up to him and glanced at him in confusion. 'I don't understand why you're sorry...'

'What do you mean?' Garry stared at her in bewilderment, 'I hurt you... I-I didn't remember in time—'

'What do you mean "in time"? Did you think I would reject you because you were a month 'late'?!' Ib said with a watery smile, 'Garry! It's never too late.' She grabbed his hand and squeezed it.

'Oh, Ib. You're just saying that,' Garry replied, his voice weighed down by sorrow.

The girl wiped away her eyes before crashing into his arms, wrapping hers around his neck and clinging on as if her life were at stake. It was a while before his arms found their place around her back, tightening their grip on each other and even then, Garry was almost too late to catch the whisper,

'No, I'm not.'

And if either of them had been looking outside, they would have seen the skies adorned with the colours of the rainbow. The storm had passed.


	8. Epilogue

'I swear you always have the rose flavoured ones, Ib,' Garry teased as Ib selected the pink macaroon with the fluffy white stuffing yet again.

'Well they're my favourite,' Ib replied swiftly, cherishing her macaroon.

'I had gathered that,' Garry said with a laugh and Ib smiled back, 'One cappuccino and one white mocha, please,' he ordered at the till. Ib started to open her mouth to say something but suddenly he added, 'With added caramel for the mocha, please.'

'You remembered this time,' Ib pointed out, smiling widely at him.

'Well it's been two months; I would be rather surprised if I didn't remember!'

'Could be your memory going haywire. They say that happens with age...' Ib suggested with a shrug and a hidden smile.

'My memory is perfectly fine thank you! I'm not that old—' Garry paused for a moment, then exclaimed, 'You know my age is my weakness, Ib!' Problem was, he couldn't say anything negative; not when she was laughing like she was now.

'If I was anybody else you'd still be ranting,' Ib pointed out, raising her eyebrows.

'Ah, but you're not anybody else, Ib,' Garry responded with a sweet smile. The girl blushed slightly, then suddenly became serious, 'How much is the mocha again?' She asked, rummaging in her school bag for her purse.

'No, no, no, no, no, don't you dare, Ib! I'm paying!' He intervened, placing an arm on her hand to stop her and handing the cash before she could do anything. Ib sighed, slightly exasperated.

'You pay every time!' She protested weakly as they walked away to a table with their drinks.

'Well I can't possibly let you pay; I have a salary, you only have your pocket money to rely on,' Garry said calmly.

'But Garry, you work for that! I don't!' Ib countered, a frown on her face, 'You can't pay for me every time, I'll make you broke!'

'Ib, two drinks and macaroons a day will hardly render me broke,' He reminded with a smile, 'And besides you do work for your pocket money; you said you did chores.' It was Ib's turn to laugh.

'Garry,' She started with a smile on her face, 'You have to deal with a jabbering lot of teenagers. I empty the dishwasher; the levels of tolerance required for both have quite a contrast.'

'Just eat your macaroon, Ib,' Garry scowled slightly; why was she so damn intelligent?

'Look Garry, what I'm saying is... you don't have to be such a gentleman! I'm not nine anymore.' She said with complete sincerity, and then added with a smile, 'I'm all grown up.'

'All grown up at thirteen? Hardly,' Garry teased, his scowl dropping.

'Thirteen and eleven months!' Ib reminded, with a playful glare.

'That's still thirteen; you don't get to be all grown up yet,' Garry pointed out, munching on his coconut-flavoured macaroon.

'Fine, you win,' Ib sighed, 'But I'm still paying next time, Garry. Mark my words.'

'Ib,' Garry sighed. 'Just... think of it as my... my job to pay for you,' He shook his head with a light smile, 'I can't believe you're complaining about receiving free food,' He muttered.

'Your job? I thought your job was being an art teacher,' Ib challenged, eyes sparkling. Then, her smile dropped, and she whispered, 'Or at least, for the time being.' The last part reminded them both that Garry's post was only temporary.

'Yes... about that,' Garry stopped slightly. How would she react? He hoped that she would be okay with it. He sighed as he pushed his chair closed to Ib's. 'Well... the head teacher asked me to go to his office after lunch...' Ib looked at him, slightly puzzled and simply wondering where this was going. 'He... he told me that Mrs. Clef had finished her maternity leave...' Ib started to widen her eyes in understanding, 'And wanted her job back.'

'Garry!' Ib exclaimed, tears threatening to spill over her water-filled eyes, 'You can't leave! How could they do this to you?'

'I was only a substitute teacher—'

'But everybody hates Mrs. Clef and they all love you!' Ib protested.

'Well, you guessed the news,' Garry said with a wry smile. A tear rolled down Ib's cheek as she sniffed a little, rubbing her nose. 'Oh, no Ib, please don't cry.' He pleaded, stroking away the tear on her cheek and holding her hand, squeezing it once in a while.

Just then, a sweet lullaby rang out and Garry jumped away.

'Oh, sorry,' Ib apologised with a sniff, 'That's my phone.' She pressed a button and brought it to her ear, 'Oh, hi Mum ... ... No I'm not crying. Really, I'm not, don't get so worried ... ... What, now? Oh, okay. I'll be right there ... ... I'm okay ... ... Yeah, I'm sure ... ... Love you too.' Ib hung up and stared at Garry, tears filling up her ruby eyes. It broke his heart.

'You have to go, don't you?' Garry asked quietly. Ib nodded, evidently not trusting her voice. She picked up her bags slowly and he walked with her to the door of the café. Garry crouched down so that their eyes were at the same height and took her hands. The position was killing his back, but he didn't even notice.

'I don't want to go, Garry,' Ib whispered, her walls crashing down to reveal her fragile heart.

'Oh, Ib, but you have to,' He told her, squeezing her hands, 'What we want and what we need are two very different things, Ib.'

'How very philosophical of you,' She replied with a wobbly smile, wiping her eyes. Garry laughed softly.

'There's the Ib I know,' He put a hand under her chin and lifted it up gently, 'Chin up, Ib. You're going to do great. I know it.' He squeezed her shoulder and whispered in her ear, 'We will see each other again. I promise.'

Acting on impulse, Ib took out her handkerchief and put it in Garry's pocket.

'Now you'll have to give it back to me,' Ib said resolutely. Garry smiled as best as he could and nodded, desperately trying not to cry. He couldn't do that. Not in front of Ib. He gathered her into his arms and hugged her hard. His will power vanished and the tears ran down his face.

'Goodbye, Ib.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've personally always found that sadder endings have more impact - I did write another ending though so I'll post that in a day or two.


	9. Epilogue 2.0

'I swear you always have the rose flavoured ones, Ib,' Garry teased as Ib selected the pink macaroon with the fluffy white stuffing yet again.

'Well they're my favourite,' Ib replied swiftly, cherishing her macaroon.

'I had gathered that,' Garry said with a laugh and Ib smiled back, 'One cappuccino and one white mocha, please,' he ordered at the till. Ib started to open her mouth to say something but suddenly he added, 'With added caramel for the mocha, please.'

'You remembered this time,' Ib pointed out, smiling widely at him.

'Well it's been two months; I would be rather surprised if I didn't remember!'

'Could be your memory going haywire. They say that happens with age...' Ib suggested with a shrug and a hidden smile.

'My memory is perfectly fine thank you! I'm not that old—' Garry paused for a moment, then exclaimed, 'You know my age is my weakness, Ib!' Problem was, he couldn't say anything negative; not when she was laughing like she was now.

'If I was anybody else you'd still be ranting,' Ib pointed out, raising her eyebrows.

'Ah, but you're not anybody else, Ib,' Garry responded with a sweet smile. The girl blushed slightly, then suddenly became serious, 'How much is the mocha again?' She asked, rummaging in her school bag for her purse.

'No, no, no, no, no, don't you dare, Ib! I'm paying!' He intervened, placing an arm on her hand to stop her and handing the cash before she could do anything. Ib sighed, slightly exasperated.

'You pay every time!' She protested weakly as they walked away to a table with their drinks.

'Well I can't possibly let you pay; I have a salary, you only have your pocket money to rely on,' Garry said calmly.

'But Garry, you work for that! I don't!' Ib countered, a frown on her face, 'You can't pay for me every time, I'll make you broke!'

'Ib, two drinks and macaroons a day will hardly render me broke,' He reminded with a smile, 'And besides you do work for your pocket money; you said you did chores.' It was Ib's turn to laugh.

'Garry,' She started with a smile on her face, 'You have to deal with a jabbering lot of teenagers. I empty the dishwasher; the levels of tolerance required for both have quite a contrast.'

'Just eat your macaroon, Ib,' Garry scowled slightly; why was she so damn intelligent?

'Look Garry, what I'm saying is... you don't have to be such a gentleman! I'm not nine anymore.' She said with complete sincerity, and then added with a smile, 'I'm all grown up.'

'All grown up at thirteen? Hardly,' Garry teased, his scowl dropping.

'Thirteen and eleven months!' Ib reminded, with a playful glare.

'That's still thirteen; you don't get to be all grown up yet,' Garry pointed out, munching on his coconut-flavoured macaroon.

'Fine, you win,' Ib sighed, 'But I'm still paying next time, Garry. Mark my words.'

'Ib,' Garry sighed. 'Just... think of it as my... my job to pay for you,' He shook his head with a light smile, 'I can't believe you're complaining about receiving free food,' He muttered.

'Your job? I thought your job was being an art teacher,' Ib challenged, eyes sparkling. Then, her smile dropped, and she whispered, 'Or at least, for the time being.' The last part reminded them both that Garry's post was only temporary.

'Yes, about that,' Garry stopped slightly. How would she react? Would she be okay with it? Only time would tell, right? He sighed, conflicted as he pushed his chair closer to Ib's. 'Well... the head teacher asked me to go to his office after lunch...' Ib looked at him, slightly puzzled and wondering where this was going. 'He... he told me that Mrs. Clef had finished her maternity leave,' Ib's eyes widened in understanding, 'And wanted her job back.'

'NO!' Ib yelled, making the whole café turn to stare. 'They can't do this to you! They can't, they just can't!'

'No, Ib, you don't—'

'Everybody hates Mrs. Clef!'

'I'm sure not everybody—'

'And everybody loves you!' Ib finished, tears threatening to spill over her ruby eyes. Garry paused.

'They... they really do?' He asked, his voice full of hope. Ib nodded. If they didn't hate him as a teacher maybe that meant...

'W-when do you,' Ib's voice broke slightly, 'Have t-to go?' Garry laughed softly, 'Garry! How can you be laughing?! I don't believe it! We're about to be separated and—'

'IB!' Garry stopped her by putting his hand over her mouth. He heard her protesting, but didn't take his hand off. 'I'm sorry, but this is the only way to do this if you won't let me speak!' Ib nodded slightly, eyes still wide like an owl. 'You really don't understand, Ib! I've got the job! I've got the permanent job, Ib!'

'You what?!' Ib screamed, ripping his hand away.

'I-I-I got a-a p-post, p-p-permanent post,' Garry stuttered at the fierceness in her eyes.

'And you dared to hide this fact away from me?!' Ib's eyes narrowed as she stood up.

'I'm sorry, Ib! I wanted to tell you, I just didn't know how you would react! I thought that maybe you thought I was a bad teacher,' Garry poured his heart out to the girl and the effect was immediate.

'Oh,' She paused, looking down at the floor, 'But what am I waiting for?' She muttered, then yelled as she jumped on Garry with glee, 'It's brilliant news! I'm so happy!' She squealed, hugging Garry with all her heart. 'Don't you ever scare me like that again, Garry!' She scolded, nuzzling into his neck. He sighed with relief and circled his arms around her, holding her.

'Hey, Ib, that was an awful lot of mood swings; it isn't that time of the month, now is it?' Garry teased Ib with a smirk.

'Shut up, Garry,' Ib replied with as wide a grin, wrapping her arms tighter around her beloved surrogate brother.


End file.
